For the night is dark, and full of terrors
by WingedPegasus
Summary: Catra and Adora have nightmares. Fortunately, they also have each other. (Alternating scenes of how our favorite emotionally damaged ex-Horde kids deal with with their issues (or don't). Assumes Catra eventually joins the rebellion.)
1. Chapter 1: Nightmare (Catra)

_I read that abuse survivors will actually start to suffer more from the effects of their abuse once they reach a safe place and begin to process the experience (kind of a "it gets worse before it gets better" situation), so… here's just a little bit of that with our poor Horde kiddos._

* * *

Catra had only been with the Rebellion two weeks when the nightmares started.

It wasn't fair, really. She'd spent months living in the wilds after leaving the Horde, looking over her shoulder every few minutes expecting to find that a squad had finally hunted her down-but _now_ the nightmares chose to come? Now, when she felt safer than ever?

It wasn't fair. But then, the universe had never seemed particularly concerned with fairness when it came to her.

Out of habit, Catra began to run through a list of calming techniques. Her eyes had shot open when the dream came to an abrupt end, now she forced them to focus on her surroundings. Focus on what her senses told her, not what her mind feared. Sight first: the pastel colors and smooth walls of Adora's room, soft blue moonlight illuminating the floor in angular patches. Hearing: her own breathing; ragged and too fast. Touch: she felt the blanket beneath her; soft, not scratchy like those in the Horde. She felt the chill of the night air against her sweat-soaked skin, and felt the warmth of Adora's legs from where her back was pressed against them. She felt-she felt _fine_ , if only she could stop _shaking_ -

The legs stirred. "Catra?" Adora's voice was rough with sleep, but sounded concerned. So she hadn't managed to regulate her panicked breathing fast enough. Catra barely managed not to jump when a familiar hand came to rest on her shoulder, but she couldn't hide the shaking that wouldn't _stop_ , or the way her traitorous eyes had filled with tears.

"Oh, Catra." The voice was sad. It was dark, and Catra's vision was too blurred to see clearly, but she wouldn't have wanted to see the other girl's expression even if she could.

 _I don't need your pity._

 _Good, because this isn't pity._

"Come on," Adora said, laying back down on her side and lifting the blanket in an unspoken invitation. Nights like these, it helped to be close. The nearness of the other acted like a shield, somehow, a warm and comforting presence to drive the nightmares away.

Still, Catra couldn't yet find it in herself to simply accept these gestures, no matter how much she appreciated them.

Needed them.

"I don't need a princess cuddle-fest," came Catra's half-hearted protest.

"Please." The request was quiet, and it made Adora the weak one for asking; not her for accepting. A flimsy excuse, perhaps, but it was the best she could do these days. Catra crawled toward the pillow and lay her head on it with a sigh that was supposed to be exasperated, but just ended up sounding relieved.

Adora regarded her from across the pillow, eyes half-lidded. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Catra's gaze darted away as she shook her head.

"Okay."

The shaking had lessened to an unpleasant tremble, a shiver she couldn't control. Adora reached for her hand, clasping it like they had when they were children. Physical contact was iffy after one of her dreams, but this… this helped. She let it ground her, the warmth and strength of the contact anchoring her to reality. A reality where the familiar terrors of her dreams could no longer reach. Slowly, slowly, she felt the trembling lessen, and her eyelids grow heavy with sleep.

"Good night, Catra." The words were little more than a whisper.

She paused on the verge of drifting off, weighing whether to respond or pretend she hadn't heard.

"'Night, Adora."

* * *

 _Short, I know, but I might add chapters in the future-there's plenty of angst for these poor kids to work through. :p_

 _Let me know if you liked it!_

 _(This story also posted on archiveofourown)_


	2. Chapter 2: Exhaustion (Adora)

_Okay, this isn't exactly a nightmare…a waking nightmare? Shadow Weaver is a nightmare of a person, does that count_

* * *

Adora was exhausted.

The last dregs of battle-supplied adrenaline was the only thing keeping her eyes open, but that didn't mean she could process anything she was seeing. Three days. It had been three straight days of running from one battle to the next as the Horde tested them—tested _her_. It had to be intentional, the way they launched attack after attack at villages _just_ out of reach of the rebellion's forces, forcing her to take Swift Wind and defend the villages singlehandedly until reinforcements could arrive. Well, almost singlehandedly. Bow and Glimmer were there for most of it, although the extended use of her powers meant frequent returns to Bright Moon for Glimmer to recharge. Catra had joined her yesterday, returning early and disappointed after leading another unsuccessful search for the rumored underground city of Halfmoon. Combat seemed to be exactly what she needed, as Adora watched her tear apart a Horde tank with a little more ferocity than usual.

Today's battle, however, had been different.

Worse.

Somehow, the Horde had managed to weaponize the Black Garnet's power in yet another way—handheld weapons that shot restraining beams of energy that could affect entire groups of soldiers. The instant she saw the red, malevolently crackling energy of the weapon, Adora knew what had inspired it. It was exactly like Shadow Weaver's magic. The Horde moved without mercy, one soldier using their new technology to restrain rebellion fighters while others cut them down. It was brutal.

At one point she had seen Catra captured by one of the beams, frozen in place by the red energy. The past mingled with the present in her mind, and the roar she heard from her own mouth as she cut down the Horde soldier holding the weapon was almost feral.

The battle ended, eventually, The alarms of another attack had yet to be raised. Perhaps they had finally, _finally_ reached the end of the Horde's test, but Adora wasn't sure she'd be able to move even if they hadn't.

She sat against a tree at the edge of the battlefield now. A memory flashed before her eyes of tan skin, mismatched eyes, and _Sit down before you fall down you big idiot—_

Catra had gone to help retrieve survivors from the battlefield after that, and she dimly remembered a faint swell of pride at the action.

But that had been… a while ago. Five minutes? Forty? Time was funny, it didn't seem to be moving right for her anymore. Several strands her battle-loosened hair hung in front of her face, but she couldn't muster the energy to care. It didn't make much of a difference; her vision was weirdly blurry anyway.

A voice called her name, and her eyes struggled to focus on the tall figure advancing toward her. Her tired mind struggled to recognize its source. A woman. Important. She gave orders. Sha— _no._ Angella—Queen Angella, Glimmer's mother. Of course.

She blinked and time jumped, for now the queen was standing directly in front of her. Her expression was—Adora squinted—proud? Worried? Perhaps both. It was hard to tell when she was so… wavy.

A hand on her shoulder brought her attention to the fact that the queen was speaking. "..dora," the voice filtered through. "You should rest." the hand left her shoulder, taking the stray strands of hair that hung in front of her face and gently tucking them behind her ear. "You did well today, Adora."

The motion—the words—

 _You did well today, Adora._

 _No. Nononono, no—_

She felt her breathing quicken; rapid and panicked. The voice spoke from far away. "Adora? Are you all right?"

Unknowing, inexorable, the hand cupped her face. Red energy crackled across her body—or perhaps it didn't, perhaps it wasn't real, but the _pain_ was real, the barely controlled _terror_ —

 _NO._

 _Please…_

Adora couldn't move. Couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.

Couldn't breathe…

* * *

"Someone, help!"

Catra's ear swiveled involuntarily toward the sound, her gaze following suit. The voice came from just outside the village, where she had left Adora.

Where she had left Adora.

 _Shit._

She closed the short distance in record time, arriving half a second before a shimmery pink _poof_ announced Glimmer's arrival.

"Adora?" Catra grabbed the girl's shoulders, trying unsuccessfully to draw her attention. Her eyes stared ahead at nothing, her chest working visibly, desperately to draw in a breath but failing every time.

"What _happened?_ " Catra demanded.

"I—I don't know," the queen stammered.

"Nevermind. Doesn't matter." Catra dropped to her knees in front of Adora, hands still on her shoulders. "Adora, you need to breathe, okay?" She grabbed the other girl's hand, placing it just above her sternum. "Breathe with me. In… and out. Slow. Just breathe."

After a few moments of tense silence, a ragged breath burst from Adora's lungs—followed by another, and another. Slowly, following Catra, her breathing acquired a less desperate rhythm. Her gaze found Catra and recognition replaced the blank stare.

"Catra." She sounded small, younger, her eyes suddenly filled with tears. "I'm s—I'm so sorry, I couldn't stop her—"

 _Oh._

So that's what she was remembering.

Catra turned and spoke in a low voice over her shoulder. "You need to leave."

"What? Why?"

"Because she thinks you're—" Catra broke off suddenly, unwilling to say the name in such close proximity.

"Oh," Glimmer said in sudden, sickening realization. "She thinks you're Shadow Weaver," she said quietly.

Angella's eyes widened in horror. " _Why?_ "

"It's been a long day," Catra said tiredly, remembering the bursts of oh-so-familiar red energy covering the battlefield. "Don't take it personally. But you need to go."

Glimmer gave another worried glance toward Adora, then took her mother's arm. "Come on, mom." In a poof of bright pink glitter, they were gone.

Catra turned her attention back to Adora, who was starting to lean dangerously to one side.

"Whoa there," Catra said, barely catching her in time. "Watch it."

"Catra," she said as if seeing her for the first time. "I'm sorry… I… are you okay?"

Catra blew out a breath and sat next to her, letting their shoulders collide. At least Adora wouldn't fall over.

"Of course I am, dummy."

"Good. That's… good…"

Her head dropped to Catra's shoulder for a moment before slumping forward, the motion causing an unwanted fear to grip Catra's chest. She shook Adora's shoulder slightly. Her head raised a bit, brow pinched together, mumbling something unintelligible but probably impolite. Catra gave a sigh of mixed amusement, annoyance, and relief.

"Hey, Horse."

An indignant, horsey snort. "My _name_ is Swift Wind."

"Yeah, whatever. Can we get a ride?"

* * *

Adora woke with a start, shooting up to a sitting position and glancing around wildly. Her room. Bright Moon. A warm pressure that trapped her feet under their blankets, but had ceased its calming rumbling when she woke… A yellow eye cracked open, glowing in the dark. Its owner gave an exasperated sigh.

"Can't you wake up like a normal person?"

"Sorry," Adora said distractedly, still chasing away the fragments of her dream. A thin blue glow joined its fellow, staring at Adora appraisingly. "What time is it?"

"After midnight."

Wow. It had been early afternoon when the battle finished. Silence filled the room as Adora tried to gather the scattered pieces of her memory.

"Shadow Weaver… she wasn't there, was she?"

"Nope. That would have been Queen Angella."

Adora flushed in embarrassment. "Crap." She flopped back down on the bed. "She must be so insulted."

"I wouldn't worry," Catra said smoothly. "She seems like the annoyingly forgiving type. After all," she stretched lazily, " _I'm_ here."

The response was an unconvinced grunt, followed by a shiver that Catra felt through the bed and Adora curling into a ball on her side.

"She's gone, you know," Catra said quietly. "We're safe here."

No response. Then, quiet, unconvinced: "I know."

Rustling, movement that barely dipped the hard mattress, and suddenly Adora's feet were cold but her back was warm.

Adora let her eyes slip closed, focusing on the warmth that radiated near her. Familiar. Safe. A few minutes later the soft rumbling started again, and she suddenly found it very difficult to remain awake.

For the rest of the night, they both slept a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

* * *

catra will end up purring in everything I write because it's adorable, fite me

Let me know if you like it! or if it's full of errors, because I wrote this pretty quickly (for me, anyway :p)


	3. Chapter 3: Nightmare (Adora)

_I meant to alternate between Catra and Adora's nightmares, but uh. oops? Catra's will be next!_

 _This was supposed to be Adora's POV since it was her nightmare, but I ended up writing it from Catra's instead ¯\\_(_ _ツ_ _)_/¯_

* * *

A panicked, strangled cry of her name threw Catra abruptly from her dreamless sleep back into the real world. She shot up to her hands and knees, tail bristling and claws involuntarily extending through the blanket.

"What?!" she demanded, her gaze darting through the darkened room in search of danger, but finding nothing. Nothing except Adora somewhat slouched over at the head of the bed, loose hair stuck to her sweaty face as she tried to slow her too-fast breathing – staring back at her with a look that was somehow both relieved and haunted. Even with the distance between them, Catra's heightened senses could hear her racing heartbeat.

"Nothing. Sorry," she got out between breaths. "Sorry. Didn't… mean to wake you."

Well, she was awake _now_.

Catra sat, knees pulled to her chest and tail curling around herself. "What was it?"

Adora's eyes slid to one side, and the ensuing silence stretched so long that Catra didn't expect an answer.

"A battle," she finally said, quietly. "A bad one. You were all—you all died." She drew in a shaky breath. "But it was... worse." Another pause, and when Adora's eyes found Catra's again, they were filled with tears. "I killed you."

Adora drew her knees up to her chest. "I couldn't stop myself. It was like I was watching my own body move but I couldn't stop it, and you—" her voice wavered. She rested her arms on top of her knees and buried her face in them, her body shaking with strangely silent tears.

That was a trick you learned pretty early on in the Horde.

Catra sighed, unfurling herself to sit next to Adora. Her hair had gotten mussed in the night, she observed. Catra raised a hand and ran her fingers through the tangles, and if she let her arm rest on Adora's back in a way that might have been considered comforting, it was purely because her own arm was tired.

"Don't flatter yourself," she said. "You couldn't kill me if you tried—trust me, I know."

She'd been going for a light tone, but she felt Adora tense at the words.

"You know—" her breath hitched, but she controlled it— "I never did, right? Not really."

Catra's fingers stilled. Yes, she knew that Adora hadn't ever _really_ tried to kill her; not even when their fighting was at its ugliest. It used to piss her off. _More evidence that she doesn't see you as an equal,_ her mind used to hiss at her. _She can't even see you as a threat._ And yet—when the opportunity came for _her_ to strike, to land what would assuredly be the final blow—she found herself moving just a fraction of a second too slow; the window closing, the lethal blow becoming just another painful wound.

Catra readied a snide remark, but instead found herself speaking in a soft tone.

"Yeah. I know."

She knew because she couldn't do it either.

Adora didn't answer, and Catra decided to continue untangling the girl's hair. Eventually, she finished, hesitating just a moment before withdrawing her arm—but before she could do so, Adora took advantage of their positions and tipped sideways until her head rested on Catra's shoulder. Catra tensed, considering pushing her off or just moving to the side, but instead found her arm tightening around Adora's shoulders in something alarmingly similar to a hug.

Ugh. These Bright Moon softies were really starting to rub off on her.

Still, she couldn't deny that the position had a certain… comfort to it. Adora certainly seemed to think so, from her closed eyes and suspiciously even breathing.

 _Oh well_ , she thought, letting her own head tilt the short distance to rest on Adora's and closing her eyes. _It wasn't long til morning anyway._

* * *

 _breaking news: they cute_

 _I know hardly anyone is reading this, but let me know if you like it. xD_


	4. Chapter 4: Sickness (Catra)

_Consistent chapter lengths? What are those?_

* * *

Catra was, to her everlasting annoyance, sick.

Catra didn't _get_ sick. Catra was tough. Catra could stare down a virus and win—at least, according to Catra. In reality, she just didn't get sick _often—_ but when she did, it was with the force of all the times she hadn't. The few times she'd been ill in the Horde had been supremely unpleasant affairs, from what little she could remember.

After two days of playing off her scratchy throat as allergies (Y _ou've never had allergies, Catra. Yeah? Well I've never lived in a glittery castle before, either—maybe_ _I_ _'m allergic to pink.)_ and her lethargy as just being overdue for a break, she'd been rudely awoken that morning by the worried specter of Adora's face hanging over her. Apparently, she'd been trying to wake her up for five minutes. Apparently she had a fever. (Apparently joint in her body hurt and her throat had graduated from "scratchy" to "burning needles" when she swallowed, too, but she kept that to herself.)

Now she lay spread like a starfish on the fluffy bed in Adora's room—she'd demanded a replacement when she heard of the original's unfortunate demise, and Adora had agreed with a shrug and a "there's plenty of room"—trying to ignore how she could feel her sweat soaking into the covers. She shivered slightly at the dampness, closing her eyes and pulling her aching limbs in for warmth.

Something blocked the light overhead, and opened her eyes to see Adora standing over her.

"Ugh. Go away," she wanted to say, but changed to an annoyed groan when her throat reminded her that forming actual words _hurt_ right now.

Adora ignored the dissatisfied sound and pressed her hand to Catra's forehead. Catra glared.

"You're even hotter than earlier," Adora said, worried. _Ha._ Catra's glare evaporated into a teasing smirk.

"You really think so?" she rasped.

Adora shot her a withering glance. "You know what I mean. Are you sure I can't take you to the infirmary? This isn't the Horde, you know, we can actually get help here-"

"Adora," she cut her off, forcing the words out of her aching throat. "Don't you have something better to be doing? Like that stupid mission you've been talking about for weeks?"

"I don't think I should-"

Catra gave an exasperated groan and pulled herself up to rest on her elbows. "Just _go_ already. I know it's important." And it was—she'd heard phrases like "strategic importance" and "timing critical" flying around during the latest strategy meetings.

"So are you."

The words came out of Adora's mouth too easily, and, impossibly, Catra felt her face heat a little more. Adora had become far more vocal about her appreciation for her friends compared to their time in the Horde, and Catra was… still getting used to it.

Her hand clenched on a decorative pillow, and she launched the convenient ammunition in Adora's direction.

"Sap," Catra mumbled.

"Well, that energetic and potentially lethal attack has certainly convinced me you're in prime condition," Adora quipped.

Catra sighed, reluctantly adopting a more serious tone. "I'm fine, alright? Just go." If Adora didn't go on this mission, the Rebellion's next attack could fail – and that was yet another thing Catra didn't need on her conscience.

Adora narrowed her eyes in clear disbelief, but eventually sighed. "Fine." She grabbed her sword. "But I'm having someone check on you later."

Catra flopped back into the bed, head pounding. "Great." _Can't wait._

* * *

As it turned out, Catra was _not_ fine. The dizziness she felt upon rising to take a trip to the bathroom only increased, and on her way back the floor pitched and heaved in such a disorienting way that she was almost glad when she fell.

When she woke up on the floor some time later, the shadows had moved, but she hadn't. Some part of her dimly thought that maybe she could call for someone, but the other, much louder part of her demanded _sleep._ After all, she thought, as the aches and pains and nausea returned, it didn't hurt when she wasn't awake. Slowly, dizzily, she crawled the short remaining distance to the bed and flopped forward into it, too tired to even roll onto her back. The most she could do was turn her head to the side so she could breathe – and then it was dark again.

* * *

Shadows and lights moved in her vision. Blurred forms, dim voices. Why couldn't she focus? She was sick… she was sick. Sick was bad. She had to hide, _hide_ —the forms were too close, the voices too loud. She had to get away. The forms reached for her, voices soothing and deceptive—she pushed herself back into the bed and hissed, the sound escaping her traitorous throat as nothing more than a pathetic whimper. Darkness beckoned, and she hid in it.

* * *

The line between light and darkness blurred. She was almost certain she was in a different room now – it felt different, smelled different. The surface beneath her was no longer as soft as it had been, and the uncomfortable weight of a blanket pinned her down. Too hot, but still she shivered. The world wavered.

Another form swam close to her and she tried to recoil. Again, her mind screamed for her to _h_ _ide,_ _hide—_ but there was nowhere to go. Fed by adrenaline, her claws extended. The form wavered uncertainly, and by instinct she slashed toward it. The movement was pathetically weak and slow, and her claws met the resistance of loose cloth rather than flesh. A terrified shriek pierced her aching head and she clutched at it in a desperate attempt not to cry out herself. She didn't even notice the pinprick in her arm.

* * *

She dreamed this time; horrible, relentless dreams full of pain and panic. A blackness darker and more suffocating than night. A red that crackled with pain and fire; an invisible, impenetrable, inescapable force. She ran in her dream, ran for an hour, or a minute, or a day, but _she_ was always there. She always found her. Catra strained against the red with the desperate strength of a wild animal, but to no avail. A scream wrenched itself from her throat and hot tears of desperation escaped her eyes, and the red bit at her ankles and wrists.

" _Perhaps we should loosen—"_ a voice; tentative, distant.

" _You saw what she did!"_ A different voice, with fear beneath its tone. _"—far too dangerous. The Queen…. never understand…"_

It was too hard for her to keep track of the words.

* * *

She strained for hours, off and on. Her existence was only to wake, to struggle, to fail, to sleep. Every time she woke the pain at her wrists and ankles increased, but still she couldn't move. Shadow Weaver had never kept her this long before – she grew bored too quickly. She didn't know why it was different this time.

The next time she floated near the brink of wakefulness was different. A voice, familiar, strong, but full of anger. Other voices raised in meager defense. Hands at her wrist, then a creaking like the sound of rending metal and _she could move her arm again._ The same thing happened at her feet, then her other wrist, and her limbs were once again her own.

Still, the panic rose within her. She tried to raise an uncoordinated hand toward the familiar figure.

"Run," she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Shadow Weaver..."

A hand grasped hers, warm and strong, as another smoothed back the hair that had plastered itself to her sweaty forehead.

"No," the voice said. "She's gone now. We're safe—I promise."

… _Impossible._ Still, foolish as it was, she let herself believe. Her eyes slipped shut.

Through the ache and fog, the voice sounded as broken as she felt. "I'm sorry."

It was strange, but a ticklish sort of warmth spread from her hand through her whole body, and through her half-closed eyes she thought she saw Adora glow.

* * *

The next time she awoke, she felt much, much better.

It still felt like it would take herculean effort to open her eyes, but things slowly filtered through her other senses. She was in the Bright Moon infirmary, that much was certain from the smell alone. The cushioned bed and slightly scratchy sheets below her were another clue, as was the unpleasant weight of a blanket. She kicked weakly at it and felt the resistance of bandages wrapped around her ankles, realizing belatedly that there was a matching set on her wrists.

She could hear Adora's voice, and the voice of someone vaguely familiar. The head of the infirmary.

"I'm sorry, … didn't realize … past." the words became clearer as she slowly became more awake. "… afraid she was a danger to herself-"

"No. You were afraid she was a danger to _you._ " There was no mistaking the icy anger in Adora's tone.

The man stammered out a weak defense, which was soundly ignored.

" _Never_ restrain her again. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, ma'am."

A scuffling sound as the man made his escape into another room, then the lighter sound of Adora's approaching footsteps. Catra cracked an eye open.

"Hey, Adora," she croaked.

Adora's eyes snapped to hers and her face lit up. She practically jumped the remaining distance to the side of the bed.

"Catra! You're awake! How do you feel?"

Catra scowled. "Like I have a headache and someone just shouted in my ear," she griped. Adora winced.

"Sorry." She fidgeted for a moment. "Other than that?"

"Better," Catra admitted. "... a lot better." It was true. She still ached like a Horde battalion had marched over her—twice—and she was exhausted, but it was a vast improvement. She narrowed her eyes at Adora, recalling dim memories of a strange glow.

"Did you… heal me?"

Adora scratched awkwardly at the back of her head. "Maybe? I don't know. I haven't done it before, but… it seems like I might have."

"Huh."

"Yeah."

"Thanks, I guess."

"I'd say 'anytime', but since I have no idea if I can do… _whatever_ I did again... how about you just avoid getting sick in the future?"

Catra snorted, then shrugged. "I'll do my best."

"Good."

A short silence followed, in which Catra found it very difficult to keep her eyes open.

"You should rest," Adora said gently. Catra heard the rustle of her sitting in the chair near the bed, then felt the slight dip of the mattress as her arm rested on the bed. A moment later, Adora's hand was in hers.

"I'll be here."

"Nowhere better to be?" Catra quipped, barely awake.

"No." The reply was oddly serious.

Huh. For just a moment, Catra squeezed the hand holding hers.

 _Me neither._

* * *

 _This was more fluff than nightmare. Am I even doing nightmares anymore? Is the description of this fic completely wrong at this point? ….possibly_

 _Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this latest installment of "Fluff and Angst with the Horde kids!" Let me know if you did. :)_


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